


Bring Him Home

by MistoElectra



Series: I Don't Need Luck, I Have You [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Gen, M/M, bodhi is a small bean who must be protected, but even they can't, chirrut and baze try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistoElectra/pseuds/MistoElectra
Summary: Life isn't easy in Imperial-occupied Jedha.And it's about to get considerably more difficult.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 'I Don't Need Luck, I Have You' series

Life isn’t easy in Imperial-occupied Jedha.

With the temple gone, they have to find other ways to sustain themselves, but they’ve managed this far and they’ll manage more. They have a small flat that’s only two rooms in the corner of one of the few buildings still standing. One room’s a bathroom, with a refresher that likes to break down every few weeks, and the other room has everything else. Two beds shunted up against the walls, enough space to gather around the fire and cook and they get by. It’s small but it’s cosy, and even though it’s getting a bit more cramped now that Bodhi’s growing up, they get by.

Baze works as an assassin. It’s not a job he particularly enjoys, but it’s his way of fighting for his home and bringing money home so that they can all eat and keep a roof over their heads. The less said about it the better really. Chirrut works the streets, preaching, telling fortunes and collecting credits here and there, but it’s not quite enough on its own. Sometimes Bodhi sits with him, other times he disappears around the market place. They’re aware that he pickpockets sometimes, sometimes sets up card games and gambles to get them more money, but it’s him wanting to help and they can’t bring themselves to scold him for it.

Sometimes they get into rough spots, like when Chirrut likes to fight some of the storm troopers who get a little too close to the Temple for his liking, even though they were chased from the place some years ago. After days like that, they prefer to lay low, Baze checking over his wounds, and they just spend time together. It’s a routine for their little family.

It happens a few days after Bodhi turns seventeen. 

It seems like a normal day, nothing different that morning than it has been on any other morning, but yet Chirrut still wakes up with an uneasy feeling in his gut. He doesn’t like it, but he pushes it aside and he goes down to the streets as normal anyway. The streets are more hectic today, and there are storm troopers everywhere, so he puts his uneasy feeling down to that. That’s bound to be it.

Pickings are slim, with most people hurrying past in an attempt to get away, and it doesn’t take long for Baze to join him. He’s disposed of his armour and the like back in the flat, likely to avoid any further trouble with the troopers and he lingers in the archway behind Chirrut, lurking enough to intimidate any wrong doers but also not to crowd the other and scare away any potential customers.

Sounds of a scuffle are not uncommon anymore in Jedha, but this time, it makes Chirrut tense, sitting up straight.

And then he’s dashing off through the streets, paying little heed to the people, with Baze doing his best to keep up, but he’s not as small as Chirrut and it’s not as easy for him to weave through the crowds. The sounds of the scuffle get louder as they get closer, sounds of fighting but also wailing and whatever it is, it isn’t good.

“Papa!”

It’s the cry that makes his blood run cold and gives him an extra spurt of speed, because that’s Bodhi’s voice and as he turns the corner, he sees why.

It’s like the Empire are herding them, they have his son and countless others around his age in a vehicle, and there are more troopers than he’s ever seen in NiJedha before. He can see Bodhi scrabbling, trying to get away and calling out, and he can see Chirrut fighting with the troopers, attempting to get through. Another burst of speed brings him up to the troopers just as one of them takes the butt of their blaster to Chirrut’s head and then his husband is toppling to the ground.

Anger fills him.

He manages to move Chirrut off to the side, one of the older women who works in the market place promising to keep an eye on him and bring him back to the flat. And Baze fights and he tries to get through the troopers and he calls for Bodhi desperately.

But it’s no use.

Before long the vehicle is gone, and the troopers have moved out and their son is gone too.

The walk through the streets is more painful than ever before and as he passes the ruins of the Temple, he wants to howl at it, break things, scream, because where was the Force? Where was the Force when the Jedi were slaughtered? Where was the Force when the Temple was ransacked and its guardians burnt within it? Where is the Force now, when the Empire have taken his son from him? He’s only a boy, an innocent boy, and now he’s been ripped from them and Baze has to go back to their flat and tell Chirrut that he’s failed them.

They’ve lost their boy.

When he gets home, Chirrut has come round. There’s a semi-clean bandage around his head and he’s hunched over the fire, his head snapping up the moment the door opens, a searching expression on his face. It drops when he realises, and Baze can see the way his fingers clench around his robes, the tension in his form. And then he closes his eyes and he starts praying.

So Baze turns around and heads back out to the cantina to drink away his sorrows.

When he comes back, Chirrut is fast asleep, and he tucks himself in behind him, wrapping his arms around him. It’s going to be a tough one.

***

The toughest day is Life Day.

It would be funny, because it was never something they paid attention to before Bodhi, but their son’s determination to have some way of giving back to them has created a tradition amongst their family. One that is evidently hard to break.

Since that day, it’s not been easy, but Chirrut has been remarkably strong. Baze is unashamed to say that he’s broken down on several occasions and every time Chirrut has picked him up, held him, reassured him that everything will be okay. He repeats his mantra day in, day out, constantly maintains that all is as the Force wills it until he’s nearly blue in the face.

But then everything is reversed on Life Day.

Chirrut is gone before he wakes up, presumably to do his usual work, but Baze has no jobs currently, so he sleeps in and spends most of the morning cleaning up the small area. It’s shortly after lunch that the door opens and Chirrut reappears, a number of wrapped bundles hanging from his arm. A few steps inside and Baze sees him pause and he realises what’s happened.

For that moment, Chirrut had forgotten.

He can tell by the tension in the blind man’s frame, the way his hand shakes and the way the bundles tumble to the floor. It takes him three steps to cross the room to the door, and by the second, Chirrut has broken down, sinking to the floor and hunching over himself.

The tears are streaming down his face, his shoulders trembling with every shaky gasp of breath, and as Baze’s arms wrap around him, he falls apart completely, clutching desperately at his shirt, face pressing into his shoulder, seeking any comfort he can. It’s been building up for weeks and now it’s all being let out, the anger, the pain, the worry, the fear, the sorrow...He’s been strong this long but now it’s Baze’s turn to support him.

“I just want him back.”

“I know....I know...”

It’s dark before they eventually let go of each other and Chirrut settles into his usual meditation pose in front of the window. Tonight, however, his mantra is different, and as he speaks, Baze finds himself joining in, for the first time in years.

“He is one with the Force and the Force is with him.”

“The Force is with him and he is one with the Force.”

“He is one with the Force and the Force is with him.”

“The Force is with him and he is one with the Force.”

“He is one with the Force and the Force is with him.”

“The Force is with him and he is one with the Force.”

...

“...Bring him home.”


	2. Chapter 2

Well, here they are, imprisoned again.

It’s the first time they’ve been in Saw Gerrera’s cells though, so it’s a welcome change from imperial ones, which usually stem from their little scuffles with the storm troopers that patrol the city. Or more aptly, from Chirrut’s scuffles with the storm troopers that Baze has to get him out of. Sometimes it works; sometimes it ends up with them in cells that they then fight their way out of. It keeps them busy and really, Chirrut just has a penchant for trouble and fights like a man with nothing to lose, even if Baze knows he’s just the opposite.

The rebel captain has been at the bars for a good ten minutes, working at the lock as best he can without catching the attention of the guards. Baze is sitting on a bit of jutted rock, while Chirrut is perched on the floor. The mantra he repeats echoes slightly in the cavern, at least until he pauses, his head tilted.

There’s someone in the next cell, and Chirrut can’t help but feel that there’s something awfully familiar about the feel of his presence. He can’t quite place it, it’s an old presence, but there’s only so much he can tell and whoever it is only occasionally mutters a half sentence under their breath, the rest of the sound being gasping breathing that doesn’t sound healthy.

“Who’s the one in the next cell?”

He hears Baze push himself to his feet, crossing the short distance and peering through the gap.

“Imperial pilot.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

There’s anger in Baze’s voice. His lack of love for the Empire is all too evident and he seems ready to destroy the bars on the small window before Captain Andor pushes him back, pressing into the bars. This is, apparently, the person he has been looking for, the defector, but though his voice rises, he seems almost unable to mumble anything other than   
‘I’m the pilot.’

But it’s enough.

Because Chirrut Imwe knows that voice, and he hears Baze pause as well.

It’s a little deeper than he remembers, more mature and yet also more panicky than he would like to remember, but now he understands why the presence seemed so familiar, and his heart both swells and constricts, his brow furrowing.

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

***

The shaking is what stirs them, the rebels running from the area and Cassian doesn’t need any more encouragement to finish his work on the lock. Then the cell slides open and they’re moving.

“Get the pilot,” Cassian orders and Baze grabs his blaster with relish, pausing only to toss Chirrut his staff.

The pilot at least seems more coherent now, and is understandably freaking out when Baze raises his blaster, only to shuffle back as Baze huffs and gestures for him to move. In a moment, his cell is open and they’re running, because whatever is causing these shakes isn’t good, and while Chirrut wants to take a moment to confirm, he knows there’s no time. He can feel it in his bones, the sheer power and destruction. They need to get out and they need to get off the planet and fast. Luckily enough, there’s a ship waiting and Jyn and Cassian aren’t far behind them.

Chirrut wants to confirm but Jyn and Cassian are too busy with the pilot and the more he speaks, the more he knows that voice. When they’re done, he seems to curl up again, curling into himself and trembling silently.

As if they need any more reasons to curse the Empire.

His hand seeks Baze’s for a moment. He needs to confirm what he thinks, and the squeeze in return does just that. He almost weeps there and then, but it’s clear the pilot doesn’t recognise them, or perhaps he’s too tied up in his own mind...

“Baze...tell me...all of it? The whole city? All of it?....Tell me.”

“All of it.”

Their home is gone. The grief in Baze’s gruff voice tells him that as much as his words and he lowers his head in mourning. Everything is gone. His childhood home on the outskirts of the city, the temple where they had both grown up, their tiny two room flat. Everything.

The sobs from the corner break him from his thoughts and he shifts. He can feel Baze shift behind him, following him as he moves over to kneel in front of the pilot. Instinctively, his hand reaches, resting on top of his head, and he hears the gasp.

Recognition.

It’s that single gesture, felt so many times in his childhood that stirs Bodhi Rook, memories suddenly flooding through him and recognition sparking as he takes a better look at the two men in front of him and he wonders how he didn’t realise it before now.

“Papa?”

His voice is shaky and breaking, but he can’t stop himself from throwing himself forward, arms scrabbling desperately to wrap around Chirrut. The older man’s arms wrap around him as well, the staff clanging to the floor, and soon there are another larger pair of arms around him as well, clutching him tight. He’s sobbing into Chirrut’s shoulder but the other two men don’t seem to care. They’re holding him close, murmuring soothing words and stroking his hair.

He thought he’d never see them again.

He’s never been so glad to be wrong.

He’s finally stopped crying when Chirrut cups his face, and he remembers how they used to do this every birthday, as Chirrut’s joke that he was checking how much he had grown up, fingers mapping out his face. He manages a weak smile as his papa repeats the action, particularly when Chirrut feels the facial hair and pulls a face, mumbling something about ‘copying your papa there’, a similar comment when he finds the ponytail. Baze just smiles, reaching across to squeeze his hand and Bodhi can see the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes.

He’s terrified of what’s to come, but that doesn’t matter so much anymore. Because he has his papas back. And that’s all he needs.


End file.
